Page 70 of A Pact of Blood

It only takes one swift swipe of my leg to knock Bastien’s feet out from under him. He gasps and lashes out with his sword, drawing a shallow scratch across my side.

With a forced snarl, I wrench his arm aside and smack his head in turn.

Again, I hold back my full strength. Bastien helps by rolling his eyes upward and sagging onto the floor as if I’ve cracked his skull.

My stomach is roiling now. I straighten up and face Marclinus, willing my foster brothers to keep up their act. Willing the emperor to buy it.

The sight of the prick’s smug expression makes me want to slam my sword straight throughhisskull. My fingers flex against the grip, remembering his victorious smirk when I competed in my first arena exhibition—as if the triumph was his rather than mine for letting me join in.

Remembering how much I wanted to carve open his arrogant face and drowning in the urge to do that right now.

I can imagine it so clearly. I can hear the cries of horror from the crowd, the light snuffing out in Marclinus’s eyes, the blood gushing down across his slackening features.

I tense my legs against the surge of fury, gritting my teeth.

No. I know an attack wouldn’t actually turn out like that.

The guards right behind the emperor would block me with their magic before I drew a single drop of blood. Then it’d be mine spilled all over the polished floor.

I have bigger dreams now that I’m not willing to give up.

So I stand still and rigid while Marclinus begins the round of applause. “Nicely done, Prince Raul. You shall have your prize.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Aurelia

Imove through the parlor of the Ubettan imperial palace, smiling and exchanging bright words with the gathered nobles, but apprehension weighs on every step. The small bit of lunch I forced down sits in my stomach like a lump of lead.

Raul stands by the unlit hearth, accepting patronizing compliments on his “victory” with a grin that looks increasingly feral. It must be taking more strength than he applied to the earlier skirmish to hold himself back from snapping.

As soon as the mockery of a battle was over, medics hustled into the hall of entertainments to help revive the other princes and lead them off to the recuperative room for additional tending. I can’t imagine Raul hurt his foster brothers any more than absolutely necessary, but every passing minute without their return sits heavier on my gut.

What got into Marclinus that he thought pitting the princes against each other in front of the court was a good strategy? What was that strategy even supposed to accomplish?

I thought he was aiming to integrate them more among the Darium nobility, diffuse any conflicted loyalties. Did he somehow think that ordering them to fight each other to the point of unconsciousness would make them feelmorefriendly to the court egging them on than to their fellow hostages?

He even brought Neven into this morning’s cruel display—making the teenager fight with the men he sees as his older brothers.

I don’t know how to explain it, but I can’t ask my husband either. Any hint that I disapprove of his choices, especially when it comes to the princes, could be disastrous.

And I’ve already seen that he can be brutally callous simply on a whim. He just… He’d started to seem almostreasonableduring some of our recent conversations.

One shift in mood, and he’s swung to the opposite extreme again.

I’m ambling toward the spot where he’s laughing with several of his noble friends when High Commander Axius steps into the room. He catches Marclinus’s eye and makes a quick gesture to indicate he needs the emperor’s attention.

My husband has at least enough sense today to decide discussing military matters in front of his entire court would be unwise. He parts ways with his conversational partners with a few jovial remarks and claps on the back before strolling out of the room after the high commander.

My stomach lists uneasily. Has there been more news from Lavira?

An empress has a right to know what’s going on throughout her empire, doesn’t she?

I amble over to the doorway as if I’m in no particular hurry, not wanting to stir gossip, and slip out into the hall. Marclinus and Axius are already veering around a bend up ahead, talking in lowered voices. Marclinus’s guards trail several paces behind.

My husband’s snicker carries down the hall, raising the hairs on the back of my neck.

I set off after them. I’m not sure where this palace’s meeting rooms or imperial offices are located, but it doesn’t appear to matter. Just as I reach the corner, the two men duck into one of the smaller sitting rooms, which I suppose they consider private enough.

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